


you must not know about me

by mardia



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric isn't quite sure how, but somehow Nursey's go-to studying spot becomes the Haus kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you must not know about me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born out of me wondering, "So wait, why did Eric quit figure skating anyway?" Thanks to angelsaves for the super fast beta!

Eric isn't quite sure how, but somehow Nursey's go-to studying spot becomes the Haus kitchen. And since the kitchen has basically been Eric's domain since before he even lived here, it means he sees more of Nursey than ever, and certainly more than the other frogs--with the exception of Chowder, obviously.

It's actually kind of nice in a low-key way. Bitty has it on good authority he can be a little nuts during baking sometimes, but Nursey's life motto is "chill" and he takes it all in stride. And thank God, Nursey isn't the type of student who needs total silence when he's studying, which is good since Eric's kitchen is by no means a silence-only zone.

Plus, when Eric has Beyonce playing on his iPod speakers as part of his baking playlist, Nursey will actually sing along sometimes under his breath. And sometimes even louder than that--they had a really good duet together to "Irreplaceable" last Sunday.

It's all just super nice and calm and, dare Eric say it-- _chill_. Nursey is just so low-key that it kind of rubs off on Eric, to the point where they can be in the same room for ages and not talk, until one of them bursts out with a non-sequitur, and then they jump straight back into a conversation without missing a beat. 

Today Eric's working on a bunch of chocolate hazelnut pies--he's going through the classics these days--and Beyonce's "Single Ladies" comes on his iPod and hey, he's only human, he just has to do the hand moves, at _least._ Nursey looks up while he's doing it and and snickers, but not in a mean way.

"Oh come on, like you don't know the moves to this song too," Eric says, and Nursey just grins and when the _oh-oh-ohs_ come in again during the chorus, he does the hand flips with Eric in perfect unison. 

"God, I wish I could've done a skating routine to this song," Eric comments with a little sigh as he gets back to work. "Not for competition, of course, that would've been totally taboo--but it would've been so much fun as an exhibition thing."

He means it as an idle comment; he's already going back to his recipe card when Nursey asks him, "Hey, Bitty, so why did you quit skating? I never heard the story there."

It's an innocent question, there is simply _no reason_ for Eric to stiffen up, good Lord--and yet he's doing it anyway. He sets down his measuring spoon. "Um."

“It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it,” Nursey says after a beat, trying his best to paper over the awkwardness, bless him. “I was just curious.”

“No, it’s fine,” Eric says quickly, whirling back around. He’s probably overdoing the nonchalance, from the way Nursey’s eyebrow is up, but that’s the nice thing about Nursey--unlike nearly everyone else in the Haus, he’s able to stay quiet and wait for Eric to gather his thoughts and respond without filling in the silence himself.

Eric hasn’t talked about his figure skating much with the team. The few times it has come up, it’s mostly been treated as “that thing Bitty did before he got into hockey”. Which is _true_ , and yet--

He’d loved figure skating, and now he doesn’t do it anymore.

“It was...kind of a lot of things?” he starts, voice higher and uncertain. “When you’re skating like I was, there's a point where you've got to decide if you really want to go for it professionally. International competition, that kind of thing. And I was _good,_ but--"

Eric shuts his mouth, because everything he says next will sound like his dad, his dad's patient, measured reasoning as to why it didn't make sense anymore for Eric to continue to pursue the thing he loved. His dad had done most of the talking that day; his mom had just said, "Oh honey," a lot and petted his hair.

"And if you aren't going to the next level, then--it just feels like you're stagnating, you know? Plus it's a lot of money--ice time, paying your coach, the traveling, and--it's a lot. It's a lot to ask of your family when you're not going anywhere with it. So I stopped."

"That sucks, man."

Eric lifts up his shoulder in a half-shrug. "My high school had a hockey team, and I ended up loving it. And besides, if I wasn't playing hockey, who would keep y'all in pies?"

Nursey smiles at this, but there's a faint crease between his eyebrows. Eric doesn't know what it's about until Nursey says, slowly, "I used to play basketball a little, when I was a kid."

Eric looks at Nursey, curious, but Nursey's not looking at him now, he's staring at the book in front of him with a faint frown.

"My dad was always really into me playing hockey. One of the partners at his law firm played for Minnesota in college, got him onto the idea of having me start playing when I was little. I ended up being really good at it, and that was it, you know? Never looked back."

Eric gives him an encouraging smile when Nursey glances back up at him, but he knows to keep his mouth shut here.

"So in the winter, it was hockey. But in the summer, we'd visit my mom's relatives in Baltimore, and they had a hoop on top of the garage. So every day, it felt like we were out there shooting, pretending like we were LeBron James and Kevin Garnett."

Eric has to smile at the image of a tiny Nursey going for a jump shot, pretending to be LeBron. "Were you any good?"

"Are you kidding? I was _awesome._ Mad basketball skills, Bitty, I'm telling you," Nursey insists loftily, but cracks a second later with a smile and laugh. "Nah, I sucked. My cousins were pretty cool about it though, they always let me play, had lots of tips for me to improve my game."

"That sounds nice," Eric says, wistful and a little envious--Eric's got a ton of extended family, it's true, but he's never gotten along well with most of them. Or to be more honest, they've never been willing to get along with him.

"It was, for a while. But when I got older, my dad started sending me off to hockey camps in the summer. Said it would be good for me. And after my mom died--well, we just didn't see her side of the family so much."

If Nursey were anyone else right now, God, if he were Chowder, Eric would wrap him up in a hug. Or touch his shoulder or _something._

But from the way Nursey is holding himself, being touched is just about the last thing he wants right now.

"That sucks about not getting to spend time with them," Eric says instead. "Sorry, Nursey."

Nursey shrugs a little. "It happened. And we keep in touch still. Some of them might even come up for a game this season." Nursey looks over at him and adds, smiling a little, "I told them about your pies, so be prepared for them to eat like, ten."

"As if I wouldn't already be up for that," Eric says, waving a hand around. "Living with a houseful of hockey players, hello!"

Nursey laughs but as Eric turns back to his pies, he says, "You should go skating sometime."

Eric pauses. "Haven't been in a while. I'm rusty," he says to the mixing bowl.

"Could've fooled me from all those spins you do on the ice," Nursey says, but adds, "You still miss it, right?"

Eric swallows. "Yeah," he whispers.

"So you should do it," Nursey says simply, and maybe it is that simple. To do something just because you love it, even when it won't go anywhere.

"Maybe," Eric says, and turns to look over his shoulder. "You should tell your cousins that if they come to Samwell, I'll bake them any pie they want."

Nursey smiles, looking relaxed again. It's good to see. "Deal."


End file.
